


Temptation

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: A Lot Of Stanley's Inner Thoughts, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Arguing, Author Is Cursive-Happy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied Voyeurism, M/M, Mentions Of Some Of The Endings, Mutual Pining, Selectively Mute Stanley (The Stanley Parable), Some Canon Monologue, Stanley Is Questioning His Sanity And Existence, Stanley Signs Instead Of Talking, Suicidal Thoughts, The Narrator Is Unstable, They Make One Helluva Match, Unresolved Sexual Tension, nothing descriptive though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Excerpt from the fic: “Stanley was so bad at following directions, it’s incredible he wasn’t fired years ago.”‘Yes, well, I’m quite tired of hearing that every single time, I’ll have you know!’ Stanley finally snapped, dragging a trembling hand through his hair.There was a silent, muffled gasp resounding throughout the room. Huh?“Every time? But this is the first that I’m saying it- Wait a minute… Stanley, do you remember the previous story every time you restart?”Summary: Stanley finally speaks up about his memory and begins questioning the nature of his and the narrator's existence.
Relationships: The Narrator & Stanley (The Stanley Parable), The Narrator/Stanley (The Stanley Parable)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 216





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, remember this game? It's one of my favorite creations of all time, and I'm strangely passionate about the characters despite the fact that I don't know what either of them really looks like or if one of them even exists. Either way, I've been wanting to post something involving them for a while, so I hope you enjoy it!

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”

Arrogant. Agitating. Absolutely infuriating. These were the three A’s that Stanley described the voice with, the voice that spoke through a microphone and sounded in every room. He hadn’t found a way of getting rid of him yet.

And worse, he didn’t even know if the disembodied voice belonged to a person or if it was merely a figment of his imagination. He preferred the former, at this point, so that he had someone to blame for his misery.

And he wasn’t crazy.

Was he? He couldn’t be. Either way, following his standard ‘fuck you, watch me disobey’ protocol, Stanley smirked up at the roof — hoping the narrator would see it — and made a beeline for the right door. This time, before the next line of dialogue, that Stanley honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he repeated in his sleep at this point, he could hear a barely contained sigh. And he marveled at it.

“This was not the correct way to the meeting room, and Stanley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the employee lounge first, just to admire it.”

And although the average Joe would go insane at the repeated monologue, maybe start tearing his hair out and screaming, (Stanley could admit he’s been rather close himself), there was something comforting about the way the narrator spoke his lines differently every time. As though he was rehearsing a script, but trying it a different way for each round. Another tone, another emotion. Stanley _did_ stop by the employee lounge, but not to admire it. No, this was just the second step of his rebellion, the escape from the voice that so badly wanted to control him. To keep him wrapped around his finger.

“Wow, yes, this room. What a beautiful room. What a gorgeous, _gorgeous_ room. Thank goodness Stanley had taken this detour on his way to the meeting room. Life without having experienced this room was now too horrible even to consider.”

 _Sod bastard,_ Stanley bit back. Before this life, this _imprisonment_ , he could’ve imagined himself being a sarcastic person, but now, the idea was sickening to him. Imagine him, being _anything_ like this man that was talking to him. Yeah, right. What a load of bull.

Making quick work of the next rooms and hallways, he ignored yet another order to ‘take the first door to his left’ and continued forward.

“Stanley was so bad at following directions, it’s incredible he wasn’t fired years ago.”

‘Yes, well, I’m quite tired of hearing that every single time, I’ll have you know!’ Stanley finally snapped, dragging a trembling hand through his hair.

There was a silent, muffled gasp resounding throughout the room. Huh?

“Every time? But this is the first that I’m saying it- Wait a minute… Stanley, do you _remember_ the previous story every time you restart?”

This caught Stanley off guard. He stared up at the ceiling in confusion. (He didn’t quite know _why_ this had become a habit of his, what told him the narrator is ‘ _up there’_?)

The thing was, this wasn’t the first time they conversated, Stanley and the narrator. However, it was the first Stanley spoke up about his memory. About the repeated dialogue. He should have said something earlier, really.

‘Yeah, no shit. I think this is the eighteenth time you’ve said just that. _Incredible I wasn’t fired years ago._ Believe me, if I found a way to get fired from this nightmare, I would have done it by now.’

“But I-“

Oh, that’s glorious. Hearing that usually calm, cocky voice finally catching, trailing off. At a loss. Stanley took the opportunity to sit, placing himself on the floor of the platform with his legs crossed.

“That’s not right. You’re not supposed to remember, I- Are you telling me you recall... everything?”

His voice lacked certainty, and it was a little odd to hear. Stanley looked up.

‘Oh, I don’t know. If by everything you mean the escape pod, the mind control facility, the suicide stairs, the bloody block game, then yeah. I remember.’

A silence fell, unsettling and heavy. Stanley could hear the flipping of papers, the muttering of confusion as the narrator tried to find an answer, and he drew a conclusion just then. The conclusion that this voice did indeed belong to _someone_. Stanley had already experienced the emotion the narrator had portrayed. Sadness, content, frustration, _fury_ , even.

But uncertainty? Disorientation? That was new to him. And Stanley doesn’t count the ’confusion ending’. That was, in of itself, a part of the story. Just another branching path to follow, all going with the protocol.

‘You still there?’ he finally signaled when he got creeped out by the lack of monologue.

“No, it’s not here! Nothing in here says that-“

‘Narrator?’

“Shit, shit, shit! Sodding piece of- Oh, Stanley, you must forgive my language...”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. The number of slurs he had spouted up at the narrator himself made apologizing seem a silly concept to him.

“Who am I kidding, this is bloody _fucked!_ I can’t find any script for this! You aren't supposed to remember!“

Now Stanley was growing anxious too, shifting his weight from side to side, fidgeting with his tie to occupy his idle hands. He could hear papers flying, the guy was losing it, and for once, _Stanley_ was in the rare position to try and calm the narrator down, and not the other way around.

‘Hey, settle down, will you? Just breathe. We can figure this out.’

A pause. A beat. An intake of breath.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

 _Sorry?_ Are we apologizing now? Stanley searched for something reassuring to say but ended up trying to comfort himself instead.

’So you thought my memory got erased after every ending or something? This isn’t a video game, you know?’

”Says the one that calls you dying an ending.”

 _Smug bastard._ Stanley flipped him the bird, aware of his immaturity but not really caring.

”What an insightful response, Stanley. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

’Oh, sod off. I’m starting to think you get off on annoying me.’

This statement made the bloke stumble over his words, if only for a brief moment. Stanley counted it as a success. But it only took the voice a moment to get back on track and of course, he had another retort to make. He won’t let Stanley have the last word, no, that’d be _absurd_.

”Insightful _and_ mature, I hear.”

 _I just can’t win,_ Stanley thought. Where will bickering like an old married couple lead them anyway? Stanley glanced out over the ledge of the platform and for a quiet minute, he considered the option of jumping off. But that idea was not only unexplainably stupid, it was also pointless. He’d just come back here again. And then again. And then _again_.

”This won’t get us anywhere, Stanley. I don’t know, should I- Should I just reset?”

His voice was low, lost, just like Stanley felt. He sighed.

’It won’t do anything. I’m not gonna forget. Although I wish I would…’

Not because of the narrator but because of this endless maze. Because the fact that he’s died multiple times and yet he can’t _end_ _it_ hangs in the air right in front of him. Mocking him.

”Well, I’m… Hmm. No wonder you’ve been so irascible lately. If you can recall everything that has happened, well…”

Stanley lifted his head. Irascible would be an understatement. But he’d let the narrator continue his train of thought.

’Well?’

”Well, I’d like to apologize, Stanley.”

 _About time, honestly._ It was nice to hear, admittedly, that the voice had empathy, and Stanley couldn’t help the smile that crept up on his cheeks upon hearing it.

”I feel awful, truly. I don’t know why any of this is happening, but it has got to be insufferable for you. I bet my constant babbling isn’t exactly helping your case, either.”

 _You’ve no idea,_ Stanley thought. But while he’s still a tad bitter about this whole thing, this entire conversation they’re having is making him feel, if only _slightly_ better. After all of the seemingly scripted monologue, this conversation felt genuine. _Real_.

”I am sorry. Do you think you can forgive me?” asked the voice, careful and honest.

Suddenly, there was another choice to make.

Sure, Stanley _could_ say no, and they could keep fighting over where to go and what to do, but he was also so very tired of arguing. He needed a break. And making amends might get him some answers. Slowly, he nodded.

’Okay.’

”Really? Oh, thank you, Stanley, thank you. I promise you, from here on out, things will be different. No more repeated monologue.”

That aroused interest from Stanley, waking another, rather important line of questioning. The narrator himself called his incessant talking ’monologue’.

Now, Stanley could finally find out **_why_** that was.

’So, I have a question for you.’

”By all means, shoot.”

’Your monologue… is it a script?’

Stanley held his breath, awaiting a response. At first, things went quiet. Too quiet. Then, after a moment, a clearing of someone’s throat sounded.

”I-… I don’t quite understand what you mean, Stanley. Look, you’re probably tired and-”

’Oh, cut the bullshit! You feed me the same lines every time after a restart. Do you know how many all of his _coworkers were gone I’ve heard?_ It’s infuriating! So tell me, are you ordered to do this? Is guiding me, fucking with my head, is it all part of your instructions? Or maybe it’s all some sadistic game? To break me down until I have nothing and I’m pleading for death for your amusement? Is that it?!’

Stanley was trembling now, hugging his knees close to his chest and clenching his fists until his knuckles whitened, his breath hitching. He couldn’t stop babbling, couldn’t avoid the panicky feeling bubbling up inside of him. Maybe Stanley was losing it. He couldn’t tell anymore.

”Stanley, please, calm down. Try and breathe for me, will you?” pleaded the voice, steady but unsure.

Stanley clung onto it, the only source of sanity he had in this infinite, inescapable Hell. He tried to breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

”That’s it, keep doing that. You’re doing well, Stan. I’ll tell you everything, let’s just try and get you stable first, shall we?”

The praise was something new, flushing Stanley’s cheeks with the tenderness of it. But the promise had him dismissing the flattery, and he focused on his breathing for a good few minutes with the help of gentle encouragement from the narrator. His voice was softer than it ever had been.

”Are you-… feeling okay?”

’Well, no, I feel like shit, but I can breathe again. Uh, thanks,’ he signed, grateful.

A momentary silence fell over the platform.

”No… problem… Ahem, let’s see now, about that script…”

Stanley knew it. He fucking _knew_ it was a script. Had to be.

”Well, I guess it’s obvious, isn’t it? It is, as you were saying, a manuscript, that I’m reading from. But none of this is _amusement_ to me, Stanley. I mean, do you _really_ believe me to be so cruel as to keep you trapped here this long for something as frivolous as entertainment?”

Now that he said it aloud, Stanley wasn’t so sure anymore. He shrugged, and the sigh that followed that was long. Devoid of hope.

”To be perfectly candid, I’m as stuck here as you are. Tucked away in this locked room with cameras, a mic, and papers. The only thing I know is to order you around, but now, I’m starting to think that isn’t as much of a permanent solution as I originally wished it to be."

’I’d fucking hope not,’ was the only thing Stanley could reply, but it lacked any conviction.

The dejection in this disembodied and usually charming voice was bleeding through each syllable, and it only worsened Stanley’s mood. If that was even possible at this point. Tucked away in a room, huh? So he may be in this _building_? Honestly, this relieved Stanley, in a way, to know that the narrator was a person. To know that in this twisted nightmare, he wasn’t entirely alone. And there was a script like Stanley had suspected. Not only that, but there were _cameras_. Were there cameras everywhere?

’Bit of an invasion of privacy, the cameras, don’t you think? So you watch me… all the time?’

The narrator laughed, but it turned into a cough.

”What are you talking about? Of course I don’t!”

’You got a thing for voyeurism, Narrator?’

Because Stanley just ached to see what would happen if he pushed it. It was a sudden urge, but not all that surprising. How long has he been cooped up in here? Weeks? Months? _Years_? Can you blame him for being curious?

What _did_ happen, also not that surprising but somehow still oddly adorable, was that the voice choked on its own tongue, words clashing together when he tried to argue.

”Excuse me, Stanley, if I’m incorrect, but I do believe that is highly inappropriate!”

’Aw, come now, don’t be such a stick in the mud.’

”I’ll have you know that I do have standards, Stanley.”

 _Ouch_. But fair enough. What had Stanley really expected anyway? He got a taste of flustered and angry, and that was enough. He had no idea of how this conversation came to be, or where his sudden burst of boldness came from, but now, he suddenly had mixed emotions about his ’guide’.

”I should have held back on my kindness. That’s what it takes to get you going then, Stan? Hmm? Kindness?”

 _What_. There was a new tone to the disembodied voice now, low and deliciously raspy. Sultry, no doubt, was also there, if only barely. And Stanley, who had thought he had the upper hand here, that this stiff neck wouldn’t possibly encourage his behavior, flushed pure red, his cheeks and ears burning. He blinked, opened his mouth, blinked again, and closed it.

”You can’t possibly think that you’re the only one that gets to have fun, can you?”

The color on Stanley’s face spread to his neck, his heart in his throat as he stumbled over his words. What was he supposed to say to that? What could this possibly mean? Stanley had no idea how to proceed from here.

”Now now, that’s quite enough of that. What do you say we continue the story for a bit before we get too off track? Yes? Then let’s go!”


End file.
